It'd be better if I had a cat to pet...

Dude. I forgot what it was like to sit at a desk for eight hours. I also forgot what it was like to have everyone saying, "don't quote me on any of this," regarding issues with the political sensitivity of my big toe.

Snakes in the woods!

I like to think that in the likely situation of a gang boss releasing venomous snakes on a plane, I would be a hero. I would save babies and puppies and walk away victorious.

But over the weekend I was running in the woods in Greensboro, N.C., and I discovered that I would *not* be heroic at all. In fact, I would make girly noises and sprint away as fast as I could possibly go.

I know this because that is exactly what I did when I saw snakes in the woods in Greensboro. After seeing two different snakes slither across the running path, I spent the rest of my run dodging tree roots like they were going to eat me and screaming whenever a) a squirrel ran by, b) I saw a suspiciously curvy root, or c) the sun peeked through the trees and made a slithery looking shadow.

And here's the other way I know I'm not that brave:

I was driving in New Jersey today when a very large bug started darting around on the inside of my car. I screamed and swerved, then got my bearings and opened the window. The bug did not want to leave. I tried to coax him out the window by poking near him with my Mapquest (I didn't want to actually poke him, as he might fall on me). He still wouldn't leave. Eventually, I had to pull into a McDonald's parking lot and get out of the car. This was not easy, as I was driving on a highway. I also had to climb over the parking break and out the passenger-side door since I had seen the bug on the driver-side door.

Then I couldn't find the bug. So I opened all four doors and all of a sudden he came running out from under some boxes in the back seat. He disappeared again.

I stood in the McDonald's parking lot for 15 minutes trying to find the bug. I even got the McDonald's trash guy to move a box because I thought the bug might be under the box. He didn't understand English and was very confused at my request. He thought I might want him to carry the box inside, and then he kept staring back at me as I stood in the parking lot, smacking a towel around in the car, banging on the seat and doing other strange things.

I never found the bug, but I think he may have left when I wasn't looking. If he didn't leave, and if I get into a car accident in the next few days, you'll know why.

Snakes on a plane!

I saw it last night. There were snakes. On a plane. Biting people in very bad places. It was a good time.

Why they should teach grammar/vocab in schools

Well, I've decided to try to sublet a room for the first month and then spend that month looking for a one-bedroom, and in my search I've run into some real fun.

Why they should teach grammar in schools:

hi its a room in my house so it is furnished the rent
depends on if you will help out with the place like cleaning and
whatever are u in la now i would really have to trust you so you
need to tell me as much as possible about you why only workin here for
a month what will u be doing tell me as much as you can thankls

Why they should teach vocab in schools:

Hi, I have a room 5 minutes from East Brunswick. Please let me know
how long you pretend to rent it for and what you're looking to pay.

Apartment fun

Well I've finally found a job, which means the apartment hunt has begun. So far, I've discovered that I will have to either a) live in a town called "one of the best places in the country to retire," a few miles outside of the city where I'll be working; b) Not eat, and instead use my entire paycheck to pay rent; or c) Live in a cardboard box until the affordable apartments open up on Sept. 15 or Oct. 1.

My other option is deciphering e-mails such as this from Craigslist posters:

My e-mail:
I'm writing to inquire about the one-bedroom apartments you have available. Is one still available? When's the earliest possible move-in date? What isthe square footage? Are any utilities included in the rent?
Thank you.

The response:
Dear Erica,
The apartment is very nice and clean. I would like for you to see the apartment to see if like the apartment. You could move in any time and date.... But you would have to fill out an appilcation.
Thank you

Honing my brokeness

When unemployed, it's best to spend as little money as possible, since you don't have any coming in. To conserve your most limited resource. It's just smart.

That is why I locked myself out of the house today and had to call a locksmith to pick the lock for $75.

How Cool I Am

So I took one of the last metros last night, around midnight. Since it was a Friday night and all, everyone on the metro was wearing nice, stylish, going-out clothes, and talking loudly with their groups of friends.

I was wearing ripped jeans and carrying an apple, a pear and a book.

It actually worked

Last night I suggested to the people I was hanging out with that we make snickerdoodles. And we made snickerdoodles.

I've reached a conclusion:

I'm never going to find a job, ever.
Also...
I don't remember this paper rejection letter thing from last time around. I've gotten this flurry of nicely typed letters in the mail telling me how un-qualified I am to work at Buttfuck Times A, B or C, but how they'll certainly keep my resume on file in case Buttfuck Weekly A, B or C needs an unqualified person like me. Is this a new fad, or have I just become less qualified in the last year and a half? It's like they're telling me, "We dislike you 39 cents much."

So yesterday I sent out five applications -- three online and two via snail mail -- and I'm hoping for five rejection letters to come in the mail within the next week. I'm thinking about making a book out of them. The good thing is The New Republic gives out three-month subscriptions with their rejections (which they, incidentally, send by e-mail -- they don't even dislike me 39 cents much), so if they keep rejecting me I'll eventually have a lifetime subscription.

I had a tryout in Jersey about a week ago, but I got into an I-can-talk-louder-than-you fight with the editor, so I'm not so sure they'll "be in touch," as promised.

And I guess that's about it. Now, I'm going to go for a run, because in addition to being broke, unemployed and unqualified, I'm fat.

Never go to Utah.

So I've successfully made my way across the country, and am in North Carolina with Brian. I'll drive up to Virginia tomorrow, at which point I guess I'll be officially living again on the East Coast.

The cross-country trip took seven days with a very long detour to Bozeman, Montana. We passed through 16 states, in the following order: California, Arizona, Utah, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina.

Between the two of us, we only accumulated two tickets; Brian for running an invisible stop sign in Kenab, Utah, and me for passing an invisible cop at 91 mph about five miles before getting the hell out of Utah. So the consensus is we're never going back to Utah.

Along the way, we saw the Grand Canyon; a place in Bozeman where Lewis and Clark camped for four days while figuring out how to pass through 10 waterfalls in the Missouri River; Yellowstone; Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse in South Dakota; the Gateway Arch in St. Louis and the Louisville Slugger Museum in Louisville. We also went to a couple of bars in Kansas City, where we stayed with Kansas Paul, who I met in Brussels. Here are some things we learned along the way:

1) Wyoming is so far to the right that even its roads are red.
2) Never go to Utah.
3) Waffle House is too good for the good people of Western Kentucky. They prefer "Waffle Steak."
4) Montana has the hottest girls (this is Brian's verdict), and Kansas City the hottest guys (go figure).
5) Even the people in Kansas think the people in Kansas are bigoted. You pass by myriad cars with bumper stickers that say, "Kansas: it's as bigoted as you think."
6) There are at least 17,000 places called "Bear Country" in Montana and Idaho, but you will never actually see any bears.
7) Valium doesn't work so well on cats (The vet gave me a prescription for them, I swear).
8) The people carving Mount Rushmore had to buy new expensive equipment to avoid delays caused by dirty laundry.
9) Looking for the Gateway Arch, which towers over the rest of the skyline in St. Louis, could very easily leave you en route to Chicago.
10) Brian fails as a motivator to do pushups and situps every night.

So that's it. The trip. I'll post pictures as soon as they finish uploading...

The plan

So, just to keep everyone updated, I'll be leaving to drive across the country on Friday. I'm staying in Fairfax, VA, a suburb of D.C., until I find a job, which I'm going to go ahead and assume will happen immediately, because the only possible reason that these East Coast newspapers I've applied to aren't knocking down my door is that my door's too far away -- it can't possibly have anything to do with me, cause I'm great. But you all know that already, or why else would you be reading my blog?

So Brian, the best person ever, will be flying in tomorrow, and we'll drive up to Modesto and load my stuff into my car on Thursday. Then, on Friday morning, we'll go to the apartment of the two other best people ever, Sara and Kirby, and pick up my cats. Then we'll leave from there.

We'll make some stops along the way -- specifically, the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore, Bozeman, Montana, and Kansas City, before dropping Brian and the cats off in North Carolina (the people I'm staying with in VA are allergic).

That's it. The plan. Now stop wasting time and go find me a job.

Nomadding around

I don't wanna hear it, Aviva. I'm making it a verb.

So I returned from China on Wednesday, and I'm in Santa Monica now. But it looks like I'll probably be driving across the country very soon... looks like beginning July 7. Now let's not get too excited here. This isn't because I have a job, or, for that matter, any prospects. It *is* because I believe I will never, ever get a job on the East Coast if I don't move to the East Coast. So that's what I'm doing. Nomadding.

For now, and into the future, I can be reached on my cell phone, the same number I've had as long as I've had a cell phone, which I think I e-mailed to just about everyone who ever checks this thing. If I haven't sent it to you, feel free to e-mail and ask (Gotta keep the number away from all my crazy fans who follow my every move, of course). And I can also be reached at my brother's number till July 6.

So that's the word.

I'll keep everyone updated.

Some keen Shanghai salesmanship

I was looking at a skirt in a store in this mall under the train station in People's Square, and the woman comes up to me and says, "No, big." This led me to look more closely at the tag on the skirt that I had simply been glancing at, and I saw that it was a size small, which is, in fact, my size. So why was she telling me that this was too big for me?

She wasn't.

When I realized this I looked at her and asked, "I'm big?"

"Yes," she said. "BIIIG," and she made the fatty gesture, like the circumference of my waist is approximately equivalent to that of Jupiter's largest moon.

"I no big," I said, and then started laughing because a) I was being called a fatty by a salesgirl, and b) I had just used broken English to match her broken English.

"BIIIIIIG," she said, not understanding why I was arguing this obvious fact. Then she looked through the row of skirts and took out a Large for me. "Big," she said again, and then looked at the label. "Laaaaarge."

"No," I said. "Small."

She was very confused by this statement, apparently thinking her English vocabularly may be deceiving her. So she put her hands on my waist to see what size I truly was.

I removed them.

"No. Big." I said. "Just. Looking."

She looked confused.

"Just. Looking." I repeated. "You. Leave."

"OK, OK, you look," she said, at this point realizing she'd done something wrong but having no idea what it was.

I left, too, and have decided not to do any more shopping in China. I mean, I did put on a few pounds in Europe, but I ain't no Large-- I don't care what country I'm in.

Things I've learned about the Shanghainese

1) They talk. Loud.
2) They perpetually honk their horns. There could be one person on the road. And that one person would still be honking his horn. In Shanghai the traffic lights turn yellow right before they turn green, and I had a bus driver the other day who would honk his horn when it turned yellow.
3) When you're trying to figure out how much things cost, instead of showing you the numbers with their fingers like in every other country I've been to, they make strange hand gestures, like their fingers are doing a little dance. Then they absolutely don't understand why you don't understand.
4) People with motorcycles ride along on the sidewalk, and honk and pedestrians. This is completely legal.
5) At least half the cabbies have no idea where they're going.
6) They like their humidity. They even make sure that it's humid *inside.*
7) The hospitals are dirtier than the train stations.

In any case, I'm going to take a big stride here and not go up to 10. That's right. I'm going to leave my list at seven, which is not only *not* a multiple of 5 -- it's an odd number. And I'm OK with that.

Anyway Shanghai isn't so bad. I've been to the zoo, where I had to flip out on a couple of people who were harrassing the cougar and the leopard (it was fun -- I finally had to show them the throat-slitting gesture to make them understand). I've been to a couple of temples, and I've been to this market, where you can get any name brand product for about $5. They're all knock-offs, but they're made by the same people who work for the companies anyway.

So that's Shanghai, so far. Today there's not much to do because a huge portion of the city is closed off because of some conference. Apparently you're allowed there but they don't recommend it.

Shanghai

So it looks like I can update my blog, but I can't view it from behind the great firewall of China. Anyway I got to Shanghai last night, and I'll be here through the 20th. Haven't done anything yet, but I'll keep you guys updated on things as I do them...

Shoulda been a zookeeper...

So I'm headed to China for two weeks on Monday, and I had to apply for a Chinese visa. Well everything was all set, the place told me I could pick up my visa on Friday, and all of a sudden I got a call from them yesterday.

Apparently the Chinese consulate was very concerned about my career, which is listed as "journalist."

I hadn't even thought about that, especially since I had kind of thought of China as a much more progressive place than, say, Morocco, where I decided not to write "journalist" on the visa application. I wrote "sportswriter," Nicole wrote "zookeeper," and neither of us ran into any trouble.

As for the Chinese consulate, I had to go back in yesterday and write a letter saying that I did not plan to practice any of my journalism while in China. I wonder if I would have had to write that letter if I'd listed my profession as witch?

Back...

Well I'm back in the States. It took more than 48 hours and I'm going to bitch to American Airlines until they give me a) flight vouchers or b) a LOT of cookies. So I'm going to go to sleep now, but I just wanted to let everyone know that I survived it. I'll write a more detailed post about Morocco and the trip as a whole when I get a chance. And of course post some pictures.

Heads up for anyone who wants to reach me -- I haven't turned my cell phone back on yet and I'm not sure that I will until around June 20 (although I haven't decided for sure). So if you want to reach me (and seriously, why *wouldn't* you?), you can call on my brother's home phone. I'm not posting his number on his blog (he gets enough calls he doesn't want, and in the end, he's bigger than me), so you can shoot me an e-mail if you need the number. For Samo guys, it's the same number I had in high school.

Madrid/Casablanca

Well we had to slaughter some shrimps, but we finally got the good paella that Nicole was hoping for. Apparently the paella varies throughout Spain -- the kind in Barcelona and Cadaques is different from the kind in Madrid. We went to a place that was recommended in my Let's Go book (thanks, Ben), but what Let's Go said was about 12 euros per person ended up being about 20. And eating the shrimp required cutting off the heads, etc., but once we got past the beady little eyes staring at us, it was really good.

The second day in Madrid we went to Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, which has a really diverse mix of 19th and 20th century art (ranging from Spanish to Dutch to samplings of a few others), modern art, and impressionism post-impressionism. I mostly went to see the impressionism, since I've kinda gotten my fill of the rest for now. There was one room filled with Monet, Van Gogh and Pisarro, which was pretty awesome.

From there we went to Parque del Retiro and lay out in the sun by a waterfall at the lake for a while, and I finally convinced Nicole she wanted to rent a rowboat with me and row around in the lake (it was 4.50 euros for 45 minutes). I eventually got the thing floating along in the right direction, and it took about 15 minutes for me to realize that I was getting very seasick on the rowboat. We didn't stay out the whole 45 minutes out of fear of me throwing up. So I can't really do things like that.

Anyway, it was hot as hell there, and we ran out of energy before making it to the modern art museum, so we pretty much just chilled in a tapa bar and ate tapas until it was time to leave.

Casablanca

I still haven't completely processed that I'm in Africa -- it's pretty cool. One one hand, you have these women walking around dressed in djellabas and headscarves, but right next to them you have younger girls dressed in jeans and tee-shirts (although it's pretty standard that women keep their legs covered here). Apparently, cleavage is more socially acceptable than leg.

And the headscarves are optional. Girls decide as teenagers whether or not they're going to wear them, and girls who decide on the scarves never leave the house without one after that. It's a big life decision for them, I think. It's not a religious requirement or anything here; it just sends a message -- I'm a good girl. Any Moroccan girl who goes out at night is essentially considered a slut, and men whistle and make obscene comments at anyone who shows any skin. (this includes elbows and calves). But from what I can tell, they seem to respect the women wearing the djellabas.

It's really interesting being here though. Casablanca isn't a very touristy town (and certainly isn't a big American tourist destination), so the locals seem to automatically assume that we're French. I haven't really felt unsafe at all (although it certainly helps that we have Nicole's friend Emmy, who teaches English here, telling us where to go, etc.) -- it's just been a little frustrating hearing all the mating calls from the locals. They learn to say "hello" in like five languages, apparently in hope that one will be right and we'll, I dunno, have sex with them?

Today we went to this Moroccan marketplace, and had Emmy guide us around and tell us what everything is. She said it's more fun to go shopping in Marrakesh, because there are more options and you can haggle there. Tomorrow we're headed to Rabat, and then Marrakesh on Sunday.

But today was cool -- after the marketplaces we got lunch at an local place that Emmy's boyfriend recommended. Apparently Friday is Coos Coos Day, so we got coos coos. Then we went to Mosque Hassan II, or The Great Mosque, which is right up against the ocean and is really stunning. It's one of the biggest mosques in the world, either the second or third biggest depending on what book you look in. We couldn't go inside though, because they don't do tours on Fridays.

So yeah. Casablanca's been cool. I expected it to be a lot more touristy than it is, and we certainly saw some tourists on the ferry, but it's not a big American or Canadian destination, which is a nice change. The cabs are pretty awesome, too -- the cab drivers all play their own kind of music (as loud as they want), so we've listened to everything from authentic Moroccan music to LL Cool J. And apparently everyone here is obsessed with Celine Dion -- Emmy's Moroccan boyfriend was singing along to it in the restaurant last night.

Anyway I'll post again at some point... I can't believe this trip's almost over. We leave for Valencia on Monday and fly out from there.

Cadaques/Zaragoza/Madrid

So we got stranded in Zaragoza (or as Nicole's been calling it, Zoolander) for a night. We had to get a bus from Cadaques to Barcelona, and then were going to take a train from there to Madrid. So we got to the train station and were told that all the trains to Madrid were full, but that we could simply get a train to Zaragoza and then connect to Madrid from there.

"Can we make the reservation from Zaragoza to Madrid?" I asked in my best version of Spanish.

"No, regional train, regional train, regional train, can't make reservation here, regional train."

He also told me I wouldn't need a reservation with my rail pass, and that we would just have to wait in line for Nicole's ticket since she has no pass. He lied.

We got to Zaragoza, bought Nicole's ticket, and then I asked -- just to be sure -- if I needed a reservation with my rail pass. Not only did I need a reservation, this assclown said, but he also said he'd just given the last seat to Nicole. More lies.

There were more ordeals (like another ticket man telling me the only seat left on a train to Madrid was on a 10 p.m. train in first class), but long story medium-length, we ended up changing Nicole's ticket and crashing in Zaragoza for a night.

The man at the hostel there had a thick accent and instead of just speaking more slowly for me, he instead tried to speak some strange combination of English and Spanish and flustered himself to no end. At one point he asked if he could photocopy my meat. Took me a while to figure out he was talking about my passport, but I can see how one might get the two confused.

So, yeah. Apparently some month-long festival began in Madrid yesterday, and that's why everyone was going. In the end, we think, it all worked out for the best, because we assumed that the first night of a festival in Madrid would include costumed people, and Nicole is very, very afraid of costumed people.

But now we're in Madrid. And we already made our reservations to leave. We had to take a number at the train station, where there were 150 people ahead of us. But we're all set. And tonight we're going to drink sangria. Lots of sangria.

I spent most of today in the Prado, while Nicole went shopping, and tomorrow we're going to two more museums and then maybe renting a rowboat on the lake.

So that's it. One more day in Madrid and then we're headed to Morocco, where it's about 90 degrees but we're not allowed to wear shorts. But I'm excited.

Barcelona/Figueres

So Nicole and I have been together more than a full day and haven't killed each other yet, although I'm not sure we'll both make it through two weeks...

In Barcelona I convinced Nicole that she wanted to go to the zoo, but it ended up being not the best day ever because a) the cats were all sleeping, and I wasn't completely confident that all they weren't drugged, b) the food we got for lunch didn't appear to be very... cooked and c) the ice cream had peanuts, but mainly it was the cats sleeping. What was cool was they had a dolphin show, although when I understood absolutely nothing the dolphin trainer was saying I started to think my Spanish was even rustier than I thought. Then I realized they were probably speaking Galician, and I felt better.

At the very least we got to see baby dolphins, so the zoo wasn't all bad.

We also went to the Picasso Museum, which wasn't as good as the Musee Beggruen in Berlin, but was still interesting. We were going to go to this modern art museum after that, but got distracted by the zoo and then wanted to hit Parc Guell, which was all designed (but not all completed) by Gaudi, before it got dark.

Now we're stuck in Figueres until our bus leaves for Cadaques, and whatever Web site Nicole found that described this city as a "donkey's ass" was pretty right-on. But we've only got about another hour and a half, and the Dali Museum here in Figueres was worth the stopover -- despite the obnoxious Spanish kids who thought it was OK to repeated shove into me until I told them otherwise. I need to learn how to say Fuck Off in Spanish. Anyone?

Anyway, Cadaques should be cool tomorrow... I'm not planning on leaving the beach.